


Tricks of the Trade

by Timcanpy_Sees_All



Category: D.Gray-man
Genre: Baked Goods, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Innuendo, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Smut, bad wordplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:28:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27661357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Timcanpy_Sees_All/pseuds/Timcanpy_Sees_All
Summary: You and Tyki hatch a scheme to mess with Sheril that goes wrong in all the right ways.
Relationships: Tyki Mikk/Reader
Comments: 4
Kudos: 30





	Tricks of the Trade

The first time you meet him, he’s flat broke. Or so he says. He’s quite the charmer, but you’ve seen his kind before. If not for the cute kid with him, you’d have turned him and his buddies down flat. He was just lucky you had a few sandwiches that hadn’t sold at the lunch rush. Sure, you had planned to have those for breakfast tomorrow before you opened your bakery, but you could share them with Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome… For a price, anyway.

“You missed a spot,” you say merrily, watching as he and his friends mop the floors and wipe down the handful of tables. Mr. TDH grumbles to himself.

Their efforts are rewarded handsomely. You give them not only the leftover sandwiches, but also a few cookies and croissants for the road. It’s not often that you finish up this early and get to go home at a reasonable time (some would consider your usual time still early, but when you have to be up at the ass crack of dawn, it’s all relative).

The group thanks you and are on their way. Before they’re out of sight, though, you see TDH turn and give you a thumbs up with a cookie sticking out of his mouth.

The second time you see TDH, you’re convinced he’s a doppelganger. The man no longer has the coke bottle glasses nor the scruffy appearance of a migrant worker. Instead, he’s dressed to the nines as a proper gentleman. His top hat alone is probably worth as much as you bring in in a day. He’s also accompanied this time by another gentleman that you’ve seen in the papers. Minster of something-or-other Sheril Kamelot. The one who was almost assassinated the other day.

“We need a cake,” Lord Kamelot says, glancing at the display cases with a frown.

You wear your best service smile as you reply lightly, “And we have cake. What kind were you thinking? Is it for a special occasion?”

As if sensing Kamelot’s irritation with you, TDH steps in. “It’s just for tea. Our guest is somewhat unexpected. Anything sweet and pretty will do.”

“‘Anything will do?!’” repeats Kamelot dumbstruck. “Tyki, this is for the Earl of Millennium himself! It needs to be spectacular—”

“He’s a chronic sweet tooth. As long as it looks and tastes good, he’ll be happy with it.”

Tyki. So that’s Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome’s name. You file that bit of knowledge away for future use. For what purpose? You don’t know, but you always make a point of learning your regular’s names. Sure, this particular customer has only popped in twice, but he’s interesting enough that you want to make note.

“I have some shortcake cooling in the back,” you offer. “Give me about an hour and I can turn it into the finest strawberry cake you’ve ever had.”

It’s the best cake you’ve ever decorated. Even you’re impressed as you show your clients the finished product, a confection topped whipped cream and strawberries. Having paid attention to Tyki’s comment of their guest being ‘a chronic sweet tooth,’ you added a few sugar flowers as well as some chocolate candy swirls to nestle next to the strawberries.

“Shall I cut you a few slices or would you like the whole cake?” you ask. They take the whole thing.

The third time you see the gentleman known as Tyki Mikk, he comes with an odd request. After purchasing a dozen cookies and a few odd slices of cake, he says, “Would you care to join me for a ball next Friday evening?”

You’re certain you’ve misheard him. “A… ball? Me?”

“My brother—Sheril, the man I was with last time—is hosting a party. He’s determined to marry me off, so I figured I’d mess with him a little.”

“By inviting a shopkeeper to a formal affair?” You laugh at the ridiculousness of it.

“Hey, don’t sell yourself short. You own and run this place, don’t you?”

You’re impressed he knows that. Most just assume someone else owns the bakery that shares your name. “But why me?”

Tyki grins. “You’re cute, and you seem to like to mess with people a little.”

“What, because I made you and your friends work for their supper?”

His grin broadens. “So you _did_ recognize me.”

“Glasses aren’t the best disguise, even ones as thick as those.”

He’s even cuter when he laughs. “So how about it, Miss (L/N)? Want to help me mess with my brother?”

You agree to the scheme. A night out sounds like fun, and a prank as harmless as this one sounds even more so.

* * *

In the dress he gifted you, you almost belong among the lovely ladies currently clustered around Tyki. You stand back and let him be mobbed by the hopefuls, but after the briefest of pleasantries, he’s at your side once more and offers his arm.

You hesitate a moment, then let him lead you to the dance floor. “I’m not a great dancer,” you mutter. Your eyes are instantly on your feet as the quartet strikes up a tune.

“Don’t worry,” he assures you. “I’m good enough for both of us.” You choke back a laugh at his confidence. His finger tips up your chin. “Look at my face. You’ll be fine.”

For a time, you are. He spins you about the floor, and though you’re certain you should have stomped on his foot at least six times in the last minute, you never feel your heel connect. Tyki keeps smiling through the song, too, and at one point leans forward to whisper in your ear, “See? You’re doing wonderfully.”

Fate decides that now is the perfect time to throw you a curveball. Just as Tyki lifts a hand to twirl you, the heel of your shoe snaps. You fall and though you reach out to grab him, it’s like Tyki’s arm slips right through your fingers.

The music stops abruptly. Tyki kneels beside you. “Are you all right?”

“I think so. My shoe just,” you take his hand, try to stand, but your ankle can’t support you, “ouch!”

He sweeps you into a princess carry, much to your mortification, and hurries from the room. His brother isn’t far behind as Tyki sets you down on a chez lounge. Without so much as a “by your leave” or whatever gentlemen are _supposed_ to say in this situation, he lifts the hem of your skirt, slides the broken shoe off your foot, and examines your ankle.

“Stop that!” you cry. You try to pull your foot away, but he holds firm.

“I’m making sure it’s not broken.”

“And how’re you supposed to know that?!”

Sheril coughs lightly, and Tyki freezes, clearly startled. “Perhaps you ought to do as the young lady asks?” he suggests. “I’ve already sent a servant to fetch Dr. Wagner from the party, and I suspect he already saw what happened.”

Tyki drops your foot and skirt, seeming to only just now realize what it would look like to an outsider, him touching you like that. His face goes uncharacteristically red, and he jumps to his feet just as an older gentleman arrives.

“Ah, here you are,” he says gayly. You hope that he’ll prove less drunk than he seems. “I saw you take a tumble on the dance floor. Might I ask what happened?”

“Her shoe broke,” Tyki explains, stepping back, “and I wasn’t quite quick enough to catch her.”

Dr. Wagner nods. “I see, I see.” He kneels down with a groan as his joints pop in protest. “Now then, would you mind if I take a peek?”

It’s not broken, but it’s sprained badly enough to cause concern. “You’ll have to keep off it a few days. A week, just to be safe. Keep it elevated, and the swelling should go down soon,” the gentleman says as he tightly wraps it in the cloth bandages a maid has brought.

“But what about my bakery?” While you could afford a day or two off, there are ingredients that will spoil from a full week, and _that’s_ a financial hit you can’t take right now.

“I’m sure you have a friend or someone who can help,” is Kamelot’s only consolation.

Tyki butts in, “If not, we’ll lend you some funds to hire someone short term.” His brother glares daggers but goes ignored.

You, however, do not ignore it. “That’s very generous of you, but it’s not necessary. I can manage.”

“See? She’ll be fine.” Sheril gives his brother’s arm a tug. “Now let’s return to the party. I do believe the young Duchess of –shire would like a dance with you.”

 _There goes the prank,_ you think as you give them a cheery wave. It wasn’t much of one, to tell the truth. Tyki had only introduced you as his ‘lady friend’ when you arrived, but the way Sheril’s mouth fell open in horror had been worth it.

Maybe fifteen minutes later, however, Tyki is back and quietly closing the door behind him. The lock clicks into place, and he sinks onto the chez beside you.

Something in his eyes makes your heart stutter a little, especially as he places a hand on your stretched-out knee. “Isn’t there a duchess you need to speak to?”

“I made my excuses,” he replies easily. “I couldn’t leave my lovely lady friend on her own after taking a tumble like that.” He leans in. “Shall I make it up to you?” His breath caresses your cheek, and you find yourself blushing furiously.

“L-Lord Mikk!” You’d be lying if the thinly veiled suggestion didn’t set parts of you humming. “Are you drunk?”

His fingers toy with a loose lock of your hair. “Perhaps a little,” he admits. “It’s the only way I can stand that particular duchess, but then I stopped caring and could only think of you.” His lips find yours.

Tyki tastes like cigarettes, but there’s a hint of the prosecco he must have been imbibing as well. He pulls back and considers you a moment as he tucks the loose lock behind your ear. “You aren’t as shy as I expected.”

You can’t help the giggle. “You’re hardly my first, Tyki.”

A playful grin curls his lips. “Oh? And what number would I be?” He leans in again, and this time his lips find your collarbone.

“The third.”

A hum as his hand dips down the front of your gown to gently grope your breast. “Then I’ll have to make you forget all about the other two.”

That wouldn’t be much of a feat. Your first time wasn’t worth mentioning, and your second had flat out sucked. You don’t tell Mikk that, however. “I don’t know,” you say with a teasing lilt, “you’d really have to work hard to do that.”

“I like a challenge.”

His lips are on yours again. His tongue slips in and explores, but you’re no slouch as you return the favor. It’s less a dance and more a desperate siege, a battle for dominance that you give in to once you realize he’s _good_. He leads, you follow, lips smacking as his hands find new places to touch and grope. It’s not long before he has your skirt hiked up to expose your core, and with one last dizzying kiss and teasing smirk, he parts your thighs and kneels between them.

This is new. Your face turns beat red as you realize what he’s about to do. Tyki chuckles, breath hot against your pussy as he slides your panties aside. “Watch me.”

He sucks and slurps with relish, and you might just be a buffet of the finest delicacies with the way he enjoys you. Tears prick your eyes as your senses are overwhelmed. He licks along your folds, nips and sucks at your clit, then returns to tasting and teasing your entrance. Tyki smirks against you when he meets your watery gaze, and with a whine, you realize he slows the pace to a tortuous crawl.

“Nngh, Tyki,” you pant as his tongue swirls around your clitoris. “Please don’t make me beg.”

The grin against your lower lips widens. He gives one more slurp that has you arching into the touch, hovering just at the edge of bliss, then pulls back. “I wouldn’t mind a bit of begging,” he says as he backs off.

You shake your head. He leans in to give another teasing nip between your legs, earning a breathless, “Ah!”

“What would you have me to do, girl?” he breathes against your wet cunt. “Are you happy with this? Or would you prefer I turn you into a dessert?” His fingers trace your dripping folds. “I know what I’d prefer.”

“Dessert?” you repeat, not sure if you’ve misheard him.

You hear a zipper and clothing rustle. “Of course~ You would make a delicious éclair, don’t you think?”

Once again, your face goes hot. He’s not the first to make these sorts of jokes, but they’re definitely sexier falling from his lips. “Éclairs are nice, but I like strudels too.”

Tyki presses his cock against you. “Strudels are nice,” he agrees, though you can tell by his grin his opinion hasn’t changed one bit. Then with a slurp, you’re stretched wide as he’s buried deep inside.

Again and again, you repeat his name as he pounds away. One of your hand finds the back of the chez, and your nails dig in. The other latches on to Tyki’s forearm as you both try to balance on furniture not made for this treatment. You close your eyes and gasp as his lips on your neck finally push you over the edge. Your pussy clenching around him doesn’t slow his pace as he fucks you, withdrawing so just the tip remains and then slamming back in.

He pants against your overheated skin, “So you like it rough? Wouldn’t have guessed that.”

All you can manage is, “Nngh, Tyki~ _Ah~_ ” as your eyes squeeze shut.

Whoever said it’s not what you have it’s how you use it has never met Tyki Mikk. The long, hard strokes that kept your orgasm coming switch to short, intense thrusts as it frays at the edges and begins to build into the next wave. You writhe beneath him, trying to keep up with him as he goes harder and faster.

Slaps and slurps fill the room with each thrust. His fingers dig into your thighs the closer you get to completion. Tyki adjusts his aim, hits something that has you crying out louder than before, and he keeps the new angle until you’re unraveling beneath him a second time.

This time he spirals down with you. He grunts, and his expression melts into one of pure pleasure. Only then does he withdraw his softening cock, and only after giving you an affectionate kiss to the forehead.

While you catch your breath, he fixes his clothes and yours so no one is the wiser. He lingers a little longer then strictly necessary readjusting the front of your dress, fingers tracing your bosom and playing just around where your nipples are.

“Maybe I’ll stop by your bakery tomorrow for that strudel,” he whispers into your ear as he helps you to the door.

You can’t help the cheeky grin. “Only if you help make an éclair too.” When no one is looking, you nip his ear. “Come early the day after tomorrow before I open.”

* * *

When he stops by with a box of candy and a bouquet of flowers, its obvious he fell right into your trap. You curl your finger in a suggestive come-hither gesture from the kitchen in the back, and then you have him right where you want him to fling an apron over his shoulders to protect his dress shirt and slacks.

“Put your back into it,” you laugh from the chair you occupy. He’s up to his elbows in kneading bread dough, and your command only earns an eyeroll.

Tyki wipes his brow after he sets the dough in a loaf pan. “When you invited me for éclairs, I thought you meant sex.”

You pause in filling that very same dessert. “Oh, that can come later after I close for the day. Here, Tyki, give me a hand with these, won’t you?”

With another eyeroll, he picks up a pastry bag and follows your instructions. You wait until he has a good handle on what he’s doing before you lean in and whisper in his ear, “You’re so good with your hands~” in a way that can’t be taken as anything _but_ sexual. Especially when you nibble his earlobe.

He startles just as planned and squeezes the bag a little too hard. Cream shoots into the éclair and busts it at the seams. “Oh no,” you say, feigning disappointment. “Guess we’ll just have to eat that one later.”

Speechless, he looks from the dessert to you and back. Then he breaks into a grin and squirts a little of the filling onto your lower lip. “Only if I can eat it off you then.” And he licks the sugary cream right up.

**Author's Note:**

> This is what happens when I'm bored. I just wanted to write some bad innuendos about baked goods.


End file.
